Turkey season brings out mystery 

As the turkey season draws close to an end, a mystery evolves and another is solved.

I set up blinds in two areas, one where turkey taking has been relatively frequent and a second where there are birds but none have been produced.

As I finished the final few minutes before the noontime ending of the hunt day, a moderate rain set in.

It was comforting inside my pop-up tent blind and being a man of wisdom I figured I’d wait it out.

The pitter-patter of the rain on the tent soon drummed me to sleep.

When I woke up it was well past the noon closing and there I sat in a blind with a loaded shotgun.

I quickly unloaded as I knew a SWAT team of wardens closed in on me. But know, once I was legal a decision had to be made, whether to gather in my five decoys; two hens, two toms and a jake.

Nah. A bath and overnight stay wouldn’t hurt them. Or so I thought.

Entering my stand area at dawn the next day I was surprised to discover my dekes laid around like dead ducks.

Investigation showed heavy damage to the toms and jake decoys as large holes were ripped through their heads. The hens had tiny beak holes on their back. It was obvious that the approach to the hens was different than that on their male counterparts.

I set them up on their plastic sticks that allowed them to twist and turn in a slight breeze and was inside my blind comfy in a lounge chair, just as dawn truly broke.

Within a few brief minutes I ate the three bagels; two with peanut butter and honey and one with peanut butter and homemade strawberry jam that was purchased at a church fair. And drank all the swigs of coffee from the thermos.

At first I fretted, facing six hours of debriefing my stomach, assuring it that going without eating during that time was actually a good health plan.

Twernt, as around nine a.m. my stomach starting singing the “Roll Around Blues.”

But I survived. Barely.

Dozing off a few times helped as thoughts of sugar plums danced in my head, and I suffered brain strain trying to remember the 13 names of girls I had hopeless crushes on as a young teenage boy who often had carved his initials into a huge, smooth barked tree near where friends and I swam balickly bare, dived off the big rock there at Duck Pond when we heard the electric trolley approaching, heading to Boston.

It would have been a sorry scene if we were late in covering up in the water if an aunt had been aboard the trolley.

The only one I could remember was a girl I had a crush on for what appeared centuries. The crush finally ended at a high school class reunion years later when I confessed that I had had a crush on her from elementary school to high school.

And she said, “Several boys told me the same thing tonight,” and you could hear the air being deflated out of my balloon.

When I finally decided that I was too tired to be alert I decided to call it a day, early, before legal closing time.

As I stepped outside I heard a distant shot. I just barely finished zipping up the tent blind when the big tom with the wing span of a Stealth Bomber winged overhead, deciding on spotting me to forego a visit to my hens.

I thought someone had missed and the fly-over was the one overhead.

It wasn’t. The shot was my soon to be grandson-in-law Matt Hill, who had tumbled a big tom.

Just about that time I heard a shot in the distance.

I hated myself at that moment for leaving the blind and wanted to do bodily harm to myself but didn’t; remembering having done such a thing during a high school football game.

It was against Winchester High which had one of the four Belino brothers play for it, including the brother, I believe it was Sammy, that was all American at Navy and went on to a brief career with the New England Patriots.

For some unexplained reason most of our team was lined up on the left for the kick off as pregame movies showed Belino liked to break down that sideline.

Apparently he liked going down the opposite side if there was only one defender there –me.

I welcomed the shot at Mister Fancy Pants as he bore down on me.

Watch his fly, where his fly went he went, was the way to think.

But his fly went left and he went right and I missed the tackle.

When I got to my feet he had already crossed the end zone, and I believed the cheer was for my missed tackle.

And I commenced to give myself an uppercut that put me on the seat on my pants; an action that made me a local hero for decades.

That tom winged off, with a Loony Tune laugh a rooster pheasant gives when you miss a sucker shot.

No way was I going to tend that blind the next morning.

I hit number two blind but that meant getting another set of decoys for that area.

The new set of decoys were all set, except one that appeared to be leaking sawdust or some other collection of debris.

I reached inside the deke hollow to clean it out when I felt the bite on my little finger.

A mouse had set up home in there.

I felt humiliated and my little finger with its pinpoint holes in it was sore.

But being of good stock who picks out the best in a sorry situation, I thanked the big guy in the sky for the bite not being on my trigger finger.

I mean how would you explain to your buddies that you missed your shot on a tom because a mouse bit your finger.

STRIPERS IN, BIG ONE HITS: Capt. Brad Glas of Hel-Cat II reports the cod season is signing off just in time for the striper and blue seasons to sign in.

He said stripers and blues are being taken on Diamond Jigs and Bucktails. He said ‘hang bait” season is yet to arrive as early it will attract unwanted fish at this time. Bass have been going up to 20 pounds. For more info on the Hel-Cat trips call: 860-535-2066.

MEMORIAL DAY: A good part of Memorial Day is spent in remembering those involved over the years, past family and strangers.

Family participation in keeping freedom free started according to uncle and family historian Harry Hodson when he discovered that a relative, a woman, fought in the English Army against Napoleon, one of the variety of despots who thought they should own the world.

Then there was Charlie Henergar, a great uncle, who was killed in Belleau Woods while serving in the Marines during World War I.

World War II saw many uncles and my father fighting in Europe and in the Pacific.

Several others come to mind. Harry Hodson was too old to sign up so he joined the Sea Bees to help construct air bases and such. He convinced a Marine Corps colonel to get him a transfer into the Corps. On his first landing, while charging up the beach a mortar hit the base of a palm tree, which crashed into him, driving his head into the coral shattering his jaw. A magnet system was set up to help his jaw work. He entertained our kids by hanging large collection of keys from the roof of his mouth.

My dad’s brother Al Perry was accused of wearing a “bullet magnet” as he was wounded six times in five years of fighting.

My father, a quiet and much older member of his 95th Victory Division company was the only survivor of a trap as they fought through Metz, France into Germany. He won two Silver Stars for bravery, a fact that we did not know until years later when he died in California and his obit was sent to us. We discovered that a square in his hometown Lowell and a Legion post in a nearby city were named after him. He spent nearly three years in veterans hospital recovering from wounds.

The Korean War saw me signing up in the Marines, my late sister Ruth in the Navy and my little brudder in the Air Force. My best friend, Dick Griffin died of wounds suffered in Korea as he moved down from Chosin Reservoir and we moved towards them to offer support.

Our sons missed service as wars were out of style for a while, and hopefully they will be out of style for good before our grandsons face war.

I don’t know who said it, “Freedom is not free,” and while many will not agree with me, I have learned on a personal level that bullies do not as a rule go after the strong, and if they do, they learn the price the free are willing to pay.

I apologize for preaching.

FISH LADDER OPEN HOUSE: The Westfield River Watershed Association, WRWA, is hosting the annual open house at the West Springfield fish ladder located on the Westfield River on Sunday, June 5 from 10 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. Opened in 1995 at the large dam on the site, it provides access to upstream waters for migratory fish. An underwater viewing window offers viewers a chance to see fish returning to the river and its tributaries to spawn. Species that may be spotted include American shad, Atlantic salmon, sea lamprey and blueback herring. Experienced guides will explain the operation of the fish ladder and offer insights into the life cycles of the fish.

Check out http://www.fws.gov/r5crc/fish/daily.html to follow this year’s numbers.

This once-a-year chance to visit the fish ladder is free to the public. Parking is available in the former Southworth Paper Company parking lot at 150 Front Street in West Springfield . A half-mile-long, flat path leads from the parking lot to the dam where the fish ladder is located. The event will be held rain or shine. For more information, visit www.westfieldriver.org or call Bill Rose at 413-786-0195.

$30K STRIPPED BASS TOURNAMENT: Taking place June 2 to July 7, 2012, on Block Island, R.I. Is the first annual “Papst Blue Ribbon Block Island Bass Tournament” with over $30K in cash prizes. Please visit www.pbrfishing.com for more information and to register for the tournament.

TICK REMOVAL: Apply a glob of liquid soap to a cotton ball. Cover the tick with the soap-soaked cotton ball and swab it for a few seconds (15-20); the tick will come out on its own and be stuck to the cotton ball when you lift it away.

STAYING IN CONDITION: A buddy told me of a friend who chases women only to stay in condition for hunting but being 70 years old he only chases them downhill. 